


i was a king under your control

by thegirl



Series: when i am king, you shall be queen [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, Manipulation, Queen Arya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 08:33:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4053523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegirl/pseuds/thegirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barely a week after their wedding, a war is brewing in the Red Keep between Arya and her new ladies, and to some extent between Arya and Mother as well. Tommen tries to be surprised, but fails.</p><p> </p><p>Continued from 'lavender's blue, lavender's green': Arya's first few acts as Queen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i was a king under your control

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews I got on LBLG, as now I have decided to give this series another chapter as I'm in a bit of a writing frenzy. Please tell me if you like it!

When they’ve done the deed, Tommen tries to slow down his racing heart but he can’t.

He wants to tell Arya that he wants to do that forever, forever and ever with her, but bites his tongue because he knows she wouldn’t like it - instead he pushes himself up with his elbows and flicks a stray curl off his forehead.

“Did I hurt you?”

Arya thins her lips, but shakes her head “No. I’m alright.” Her cheeks are bright red, and her eyes are slightly glassy. Tommen thinks he must look similar.

“You’re Queen now,” he tells her, “Does that sound strange to you?”

She meets his eyes with her own and nods “It was never supposed to be me. Sansa was the pretty one, Sansa was betrothed to a prince-”

Her eyes fill with tears, and Tommen feels his body stiffen. He’s seen her crying twice - after her father’s execution, when they heard of the fate of her mother and brother at the Red Wedding, and he is really not prepared for it, because most of the time he feels as if she is an immovable object.

“But you- you married a king, Arya.” He says, but knows it’s the wrong thing to say when she wrenches a hand through her hair.

“I never wanted- I didn’t want this, Tommen, not like Margaery did or Sansa. I wanted to stay in Winterfell forever with my parents and brothers and be a knight, it’s not fair to you, I know, but I didn’t want this.”

“Neither did I,” Tommen tells her, and her head snaps up. “I didn’t choose who I was born to, and while some would say I was lucky, I’m not the kind of person meant to lead men. I’m not a warrior like father or a politician like grandfather I’m just _me,_ but now I’m king and I- what I’m trying to say is, I’m glad it’s you that’s in this bed with me, not Sansa or Margaery or anyone else, I’m glad it’s you.”

She looks at him for a long moment before letting out a choked laugh “I think that’s the most I’ve ever heard you say in one go.”

Soon they’re both laughing hysterically on the bed where both of them lost their virginity, still covered in the results of their coupling and Arya’s maiden’s blood on the sheets, and Tommen remembers thinking very clearly _I want it to be like this all the time with us._

.

Barely a week after their wedding, a war is brewing in the Red Keep between Arya and her new ladies, and to some extent between Arya and Mother as well. Tommen tries to be surprised, but fails.

His wife had scared all but one of her old handmaidens off before their wedding, and now that one had been deemed too lowly for the new queen, and apparently was on a mission to get rid of her highborn companions and get her lowborn one back.

Mother said that it was dangerous politically to do so, as the girls had influential fathers and suitors, but Arya said it was a way of weeding out the weak, the wolves from the sheep. When Tommen, who had somehow become a go-between for his wife and mother told the Queen Mother that, Mother had let out a kind of cackle.

“Tell your darling wife, my dear,” she said “That the only wolf she’s like to find in that particular herd is in her own looking glass.”

Tommen can’t help the feeling that Mother and Arya really don’t like one another, as while Mother treats her like she should a good-daughter, her smile always becomes rather fixed when they are in the same room, and Arya has no qualms looking at mother with nothing but vitriol in her grey eyes.

In response to mother, Arya dismisses all her ladies and sends them to the Queen Mother to ‘find them new pastimes’.

“You’re insane,” Tommen tells her, but she just grins.

“Tom,” she says - she’s began calling him that more and more since they’ve wed, and Tommen finds he actually quite likes it - flipping her hair over her shoulder “If I wasn’t, then you wouldn’t like me half as much.”

.

“Do something for me?” she asks him, after spending a night together again at the urging of the Small Council, all desperate for an heir to the Kingdoms.

She’s timed it well - she knows how much he likes laying with her, and how much more disposed to her point of view he is afterwards. He knows she knows he knows this, and that makes him all the more intrigued by it.

“What?” he says, taking the advantage of knowing she wants something to run his hand down the side of her face, something she doesn’t allow him to do usually.

“The Freys,” she says, sounding out the family name like a curse.

Tommen knows what she’s going to ask then, and he wants to give it to her, he does. But it is not his to give, at least he doesn’t think so.

“I want them dead,” she says, flatly “Every last one. I want all the young boys sent to the Night’s Watch, the girls sent to the Seven, I want their line destroyed root and stem. I want Walder Frey to know his name will be forgotten by history, I want nothing of them to live on. I want the Twins torn down to rubble - leave the bridge, but destroy the castles. I want the river on which they live to run red with their blood.”

She starts out soft, but by the end she’s gotten louder to a kind of roar, vicious and spitting and terrible.

Tommen feels like his heart has been set on fire just looking at her.

It’s not his to give, it’s not his decision, it’s not just his choice, it was done on behalf of Joffrey, his brother, his king at the time-

He tells her this, and she shakes her head, and bends so close to him he doesn’t know if it is his own heartbeat in his ears or hers.

“ _You_ are king now,” she reminds him “and I am queen. And we need to set a precedent, husband dear - they killed a man at dinner. They broke guest right. You are king now, and if you cannot give me this, then no man on earth can.” And even when he is teetering on the edge, she says the one thing that will convince him more than anything else she could say “You said you loved me. _Prove_ it.”

And well, when she looks at him like that, all wildfire and blood and revenge and rawness, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for her. Some would say she rules him, and Tommen may agree, even if courtiers and smallfolk alike spit at the mere suggestion - being ruled by a woman like her, he thinks, is no shame at all.

.

The next time they go to the Great Sept of Baelor for prayer, Tommen points out the stoat faced septas that suddenly overwhelm the place - he whispers to her during a recitation of the Seven Pointed Star that they’ve been spread through each of the kingdoms, the boys even now making their way to the Wall where they will be serving for life, and at dinner that night he presents her with Walder Frey’s shrunken, severed head.

The way she flings her arms around him, the way she smiles for days afterward, tells him it was worth it, even as mother tells him he’s gone mad and that Grandfather is turning in his freshly dug grave.

.

Tommen isn’t a prodigy like Arya is with a sword, but he’ll try once in a while to fight her. He’s bigger than her, but she’s quick, quicker than any other knight in the training yard. If it were a fight of brute strength, Tommen would win, because he is genetically predisposed to win every time.

But it’s not just that.

Over the years, her sword, her Needle as she calls it, has become an extension of her arm and the muscles in her arms and legs have become sinewy and flexible, so she can run circles around you until your head spins, and in a true fight she could poke you full of holes nobody could stitch up. (Also, it really makes night time activities exceptionally interesting).

At first, the knights training had laughed when he had lost to her in two minutes, but they stopped laughing when she beat all of them in a similar fashion.

Then, it became a point of pride for them to see if they could get one over on the new queen, and while a few succeeded, most failed.

In the way that seems to be happening more and more, Arya becomes some kind of warrior queen - it is one of the few rumours that doesn’t bother her.

“Marya said that she heard somebody calling me the Wolf Queen,” she tells him as they lay in bed one night. She had succeeded in recovering her old maid, who seems completely loyal to Arya in every way. Tommen knows they call her other things, and he knows she knows too, but neither of them listen to things like that. He knows they call him a bastard and illborn, but he knows it's rubbish.

Tommen is not quite sure how she managed to find the one person in the keep with undeclared loyalties to wait on her, but he’s glad.

“How imaginative,” he says, and is rewarded with one of her little giggles that don’t fit the tough front she puts up. He thinks she’s beginning to trust him, and that makes his belly warm in a strange way that he’s never felt before.

“I like it,” she whispers in his ear, and he can’t help grinning.

“Of course you would,” he says.

Arya hums “What would you like to be called if you could chose anything?”

Tommen wracks his mind, but can’t think of anything “I don’t know.” Not the Bastard king, or the Illborn, for sure.

Arya lets out a little scoff. “You can do better than that!” she says.

He shrugs in the darkness, before realizing she can’t see “I don’t. I like- I like the way you call me Tom.”

“You like that?” she says, and he feels her run a finger across his cheek.

“Yes,” he says truthfully. Goosebumps raise on his skin.

“You like _that?”_ she says again, her hand drifting down his body beneath the covers.

“ _Yes,”_ he groans.

“And this?” she keeps going.

“You’re going to kill me,” he says, breathless.

Her only answer to that is another of her laughs, that he doesn't think he'll ever tire of hearing.


End file.
